


I want so much to believe in you

by icandrawamoth



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Autophobia, Handcuffs, M/M, Memories, Prison, badthingshappenbingo, post-Lusankya, title from Ben Fankhauser 'Belief'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: “Wedge,listento me,” Tycho insists. A guard shifts uncomfortably, and he lowers his voice. “Do you remember Jorin Sol?”A cold feeling washes over Wedge. Of course he remembers Jorin. He remembers every ally whose death he had a part in.





	I want so much to believe in you

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose reading so many comics in the last few days, it was inevitable I would get attached to some obscure character and have to write something. So here it is. Also for badthingshappenbingo square "fighting from the inside."

“I believe you,” Wedge says, sitting at a durasteel table across from Tycho while guards and security holocams watch their every move. _I believe you were in Lusankya. I believe you resisted Isard's attempts to brainwash you. I believe you escaped and came back to me. I believe I will see you outside this prison soon._

Tycho gives him a weak smile. His hands shift on the table, and the chain connecting the heavy cuffs around his wrists clinks against the ring binding it to the table. He sighs. “You have more confidence in me than anyone else I've seen since I got back.”

“I know you better than these Intelligence agents.”

“That's true.”

Tycho's hand twitches again, toward Wedge, and Wedge hates that he has to pull back.

“No touching,” one of the guards growls.

Wedge chews his lip as he looks up at Tycho, taking in his heavy frown as he pulls his hands back closer to himself – but not out of view of the guards. They don't like that either.

“I'm sorry.”

Tycho shrugs with another clink. “None of this is your fault.”

“I'm going to get you out of here,” Wedge promises. “Everyone knows you're no danger.”

Tycho shakes his head. “We can't know that, Wedge. There's so much I don't remember.”

“But you know you didn't give Isard anything and that she isn't in control of you.”

“I _think_ that, sure, but we both know there's no real way to tell. If I were to put someone in danger even without meaning to-”

“You wouldn't.”

“Wedge, _listen_ to me,” Tycho insists. A guard shifts uncomfortably, and he lowers his voice. “Do you remember Jorin Sol?”

A cold feeling washes over Wedge. Of course he remembers Jorin. He remembers every ally whose death he had a part in.

Suddenly five years are melting away, and he's in another place, a different man seated across a table from him. Messy brown hair and liquid hazel eyes, full of uncertainty, guilt, and fear.

Jorin had been a Rebel statistician in charge of the algorithm used to plot the fleet's evasive hyperspace jumps after they fled Yavin 4. He was captured during a mission to Jabiim and tortured by the Imperials before eventually being rescued. Shortly after his return, he had broken out of his bacta tank and attempted to kill another Rebel, revealing himself to have been brainwashed. He fought himself, though, his true personality eventually winning through and allowing his victim to escape.

After that, there had been more caution. Medical went over him with a fine-toothed comb and cleared him once again, their second time finding no evidence of tampering, Wedge was one of the people assigned to watch over him and observe his behavior with the goal of clearing him for duty once again.

It was hard to tell if he was back to himself; Wedge hadn't known the man before the mission in which he'd been captured. But he showed definite repentance and intense guilt for the harm he'd tried to do to his ally. Much of the time, he was inconsolable.

Wedge remembers this bit so clearly. Sitting across the table from Jorin, seeing tears wind matching tracks down his face as he whispered his guilt and pain and the things he'd felt knowing the Empire was using him to kill and not being able to stop it until it was nearly too late. He'd confessed how weak he felt, how terrified he was that it would happen again.

And Wedge had looked into his eyes and promised it wouldn't. Wedge had promised Jorin he was safe now that he was back with the Rebellion, that he had beaten the programming and had no need to fear anymore. And then Wedge had signed off on his observations that the man should be allowed back on duty.

“That could be me,” Tycho says plainly.

“No.”

Tycho huffs. “He killed two men, Wedge. He almost killed Leia. Because we thought he was fine.”

“You mean because _I_ thought he was fine.”

“That's not what I said. But yes.” Tycho gives him a steady look.

Wedge grits his teeth. He knows Tycho's not trying to hurt or offend him – he's trying to say whatever he can to get Wedge to do what he wants. Not that it doesn't hurt. Wedge has wondered on many occasions what might have happened to Jorin if he hadn't signed off on him. He can't let himself think of Tycho in the same light.

“Jorin was still our man in the end,” Wedge reasons. “He fought the programming and warned Luke about the ambush. He jumped _Rebel One_ to hyperspace and saved who knows how many lives while losing his own in the process.”

Tycho folds his arms, the cuffs rattling ominously. “None of that would have been necessary if he'd been kept under lock and key and told someone the Empire's plan sooner.”

Frustration leaks over, Wedge's hands slamming on the table. “So, what, we should have just locked him away forever, even though he showed no sign of being compromised? And that's what you want us to do to you, too?”

The outburst seems to break something in Tycho, and for a moment, his gaze shifts, distress touching his blue eyes. But in an instant, it's gone. “If that's what it takes to keep the New Republic safe, yes.”

“That's ridiculous!”

“Commander,” says a guard, suddenly at Wedge's shoulder, “if you can't remain calm, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wedge swallows hard and reigns himself in with difficulty. “I apologize. I'm fine.”

Nodding warily, the guard resumes his post.

“Tycho, you're not Jorin,” Wedge says. “I know you. You're stronger than he ever was. You have experience, you've gone through things that have hardened your constitution. You have training he didn't. He was a statistician, practically a civilian. He should have been behind a desk, not in the field. Once the Empire had him, he never stood a chance. We did all we could for him; you've told me enough times that we can't win every battle.”

Tycho hangs his head. “I can see I'm not going to change your mind.” His voice goes quiet suddenly, unexpectedly vulnerable. “I couldn't live with myself if I hurt someone, Wedge. I'm afraid.”

Wedge dares, sliding a hand over Tycho's before either of the guards can interfere. “Don't be,” he insists, soft but firm. “You're going to be fine. You're a good man, Tycho. You're so strong. I can believe that enough for both of us.”


End file.
